What Lorelai Doesn't Know Won't Hurt Her
by WhatsWithLuna3
Summary: What Lorelai doesn't know won't hurt her, she thinks off-handedly as she makes her way up to him. A tiny smile breaks onto her face when he turns around, and the whole world is forgotten.


_slightly_ AU? just my interpretation of how Rory got to New York and found Jess.

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What Lorelai doesn't know won't hurt her. Her graduation is in a few hours, hours she can spare going to New York City because who wouldn't do that?

She sits in the stifling bus, surrounded by people she is proud of being surrounded by, because they all share a mutual destination and therefore must also share a connection of some sort. She smiles at the man who lowers himself into the seat next to hers, but he ignores her. He stretches and leans back and closes his eyes, like he's used to traveling to the big city. She mimics his actions, discreetly, of course. She wants to look normal, because then it makes the whole idea seem normal, too. A normal girl riding a normal bus to a normal city to see a normal boy. No biggie. She does this all the time.

But Jess, well, he isn't exactly _normal_. And Lorelai certainly knows that. Which is why she doesn't like him, and which is why she can't know her daughter is playing hooky to go see a boy she – Lorelai – hates.

Dean is normal, she thinks, and smiles to herself. Dean is nice. He carries her books for her even when she insists she can do it herself. He puts aside some things she might like at Doose's Market, like a new brand of jelly beans or weird-flavored Twizzlers, some _Teen Vogue_ magazines even though she hates _Teen Vogue_ but it's too late to tell him now. He watches her movies and doesn't argue with her because he loves her too much. His sister hates her, but she doesn't mind. Dean is her boyfriend. He is stable and he is normal.

Jess would never carry her books. He would tease her about being a feminist and declare that it would be a _shame_ to _all_ feminists if she let a _man_ carry her books. And he doesn't save her a _Teen Vogue_ or jelly beans, not even a seat at a table at Luke's. But he would call her to tell her about the new book he read. He's already done it, and now every time the phone rings she half-expects it to be him calling to tell her to read this new book he found. It's never him, though. It's usually Emily calling to complain. Or Dean, wondering if she got home okay. Or Lorelai calling from the upstairs phone because she's bored.

She chuckles to herself, but quickly stops, embarrassed. The man beside her might think she's crazy. Are people in New York crazy? Maybe it's normal to sit next to somebody who laughs to themselves. The man doesn't react. Maybe he _is_ used to it.

If it was Dean in New York City she would have jumped on the bus to go see him, too. Wouldn't she? Lorelai certainly would have approved, her community college graduation aside. Then again, if it had been Dean who had caused her wrist fracture, Lorelai would have reacted differently, right? She probably would have said it was an accident, that Dean wasn't to blame, that it could have happened to anyone. Because she likes Dean, she likes the stability he brings to Rory, she knows him. She sees Cristopher in him, that's what she told Rory once.

Rory imagines if the roles were reversed. If it was _her_ in New York, not Jess. If it was her who left to take a break from the crazy small-town life. Going to New York spontaneously to see the girl they like is something both Dean and Jess would do. Dean selflessly, to make sure the girl he loves is alright, if she's eating well, that she's not sleeping on a park bench and talking to the ducks. Jess selfishly, she imagines. To see if the girl he likes misses him like he her. To satisfy the urge to see her and talk to her about the things they both like.

God, now she's fantasizing about Jess. About how he likes her. It's so silly.

Then again, she _is_ going to New York to see _him_. Not to Chicago to see Dean. She reasons, Chicago is much farther away than New York. Jess left without saying goodbye. Dean is with his grandmother. Jess is alone in a huge city. Dean is normal. Jess is. _Is_.

She sees a sign on the highway. _Manhattan 2.1 miles._ Her heart speeds up.

Oh God.

She wonders where he is. At a diner, maybe, eating a burger, reading Ginsberg's _Howl_ for the fifth time. In Central Park, feeding the ducks. At a book store, finding the most obscure indie books to read and recommend to her. She feels her imagination start to slip. The warmth of his hand over hers, the intense gaze of his dark eyes on her. The smell of cigarettes and leather. She imagines what his lips on hers feel like.

Oh God.

She loves _Dean_ , she reprimands quietly, scowling at her hands. She loves _Dean_. Dean _also_ wears leather jackets. He's tall and nice. He has a good sense of humor and gets her pop culture references. He holds her by the waist and places his hands against the small of her back. He laughs with Lorelai and is polite to Emily when it's necessary. Dean is safe.

Who cares if Dean doesn't read? Who cares if he has no idea who Gertrude Stein is or if he's never read a classic like _The Bell Jar_?

Not that Jess had. She wouldn't know.

(Except she would. And he had.)

The bus lurches to a very harsh halt and she realizes where she is. The man next to her opens his eyes and gets up, muttering and stretching his legs. She watches him grab his bag from the overhead platform and push past the other people and get out. He can't get out fast enough, she observes amusedly. Perhaps he wasn't a real New Yorker.

She gets out herself about two minutes after and stays still, staring. It is here, alone and tiny in a busy city, where she understands that she is nothing more than a small-town girl, confused and blind, looking for a friend who could be God knows where.

Now, where was it that he'd called from?

 _Washington Square Park_.

'Excuse me, could you –' No answer. 'Hi, sir, do you know where –' 'Washington Square Park?' She is invisible.

Finally a pleasant old man sees her wandering, changing direction every three or four feet, and asks her if she needs any help. She nearly hugs him. 'Washington Square Park,' she says breathlessly, hoping she doesn't look _too_ out of place, asking where a park is.

But the man smiles good-naturedly and beckons her to follow him. He takes her to a crossing and gives her directions. _Straight ahead, then left onto 5_ _th_ _Avenue. Can't miss it._ When she thanks him, he laughs and waves goodbye.

She walks straight ahead, her head held up so as not to miss the turning onto 5th Avenue. She's almost shaking but not because she might not find Jess; she has a gut feeling – an instinct – he's at the park, so that's obviously not the issue.

What if he's not happy to see her? What if he asks her what the hell she's thinking, running off like that to New York? What if he gets angry and tells her to leave him alone? What if –

She nearly jumps when she sees the street sign reminding her to turn left. So much for blending in.

She sees the park immediately. The arch, really. What if he's by the arch?

By now she's no longer thinking. She works off of impulse. She walks faster and soon she passes the arch because Jess would not hang around the touristy area. She looks out for under the trees, near shrubs, benches.

 _Benches_.

Then she sees him, the back of his neck and his tousled dark hair, the shoulder pads of his leather jacket, and her entire organs do somersaults. She can't see his face but she _knows_ it's him. There's no doubt about it.

What Lorelai doesn't know won't hurt her, she thinks off-handedly as she makes her way up to him. A tiny smile breaks onto her face when he turns around, and the whole world is forgotten.

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